


don't look back

by hardkourparcore



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Casphardt Fan Fest 2020, Crimson Flower Route, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Oneshot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), no beta you only post once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:47:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hardkourparcore/pseuds/hardkourparcore
Summary: During the war, Caspar and Linhardt reach a decision.
Relationships: Caspar von Bergliez/Linhardt von Hevring
Kudos: 20
Collections: Casphardt Fan Fest 2020





	don't look back

**Author's Note:**

> i was totally unprepared to post anything for the week but i'm doing my best to get SOME out because i love these two boys. i hope you enjoy! as always, you can hang out with me on twitter [@hardkourparcore](https://twitter.com/hardkourparcore)

Caspar ducked under the tent flap. Even after a grueling and difficult battle, he knew Linhardt would be working long after, tending to whatever wound they could identify and manage. They must have been at it for hours by now - the short celebration that foot soldiers like Caspar allowed themselves had finished, and Edelgard had announced her plans to march onto Fhirdiad after only a short rest.

He found Linhardt sitting on an unoccupied cot, listlessly staring at some point on the ground. Caspar even followed their gaze, trying to see if there was anything notable there. This alone told him it had been a difficult day for them.

“Hey,” he said gently. He moved to sit beside them. Their body shifted with the weight he put on the cot, but they didn’t turn to look at him.

Their voice was dry. “...Hey,” they offered.

“You okay?” That answer was more important than the reason Caspar had first sought out Linhardt. He wanted to confirm they were, first.

“Doubtful,” they replied. So they didn’t even know.

Their last fight had been terrible in so many ways. A little rain and mud had never bothered Caspar, but the extent of wet earth had made it difficult to keep one’s footing, and he knew Linhardt hated it more than him. They’d had sudden reinforcements by Lady Rhea herself and huge, mechanized monsters that Linhardt had been defenseless to. Caspar had to run with all his might to put an axe between its arm and Linhardt’s body, and did his damndest to fell it before it could hurt them. The worst part, in Caspar’s opinion, had been the way people they knew shifted and changed into monsters before their very eyes, all in the name of Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

That sort of thing bothered Caspar to an incredible degree. He could only assume it bothered Linhardt worse.

Their hands were still covered in the blood of their work. Resting on their knees, it would only be a matter of time before their hands left two dark red prints on their pants, which they wouldn’t even like cleaning later.

Caspar had shrugged off his armor to avoid chafing from the rain quickly. The clothes Linhardt wore to battle were the same as they preferred for daily use. It was one of the things others could ascribe to their laziness, but Caspar didn’t think so. He slid his hand and forearm under their palms, curling his fingers around the hand furthest from him and holding it. Their other hand automatically slid across his wrist to set atop the one he held.

“What’s the point of this, Caspar?” they asked.

Caspar knew the answer, but it wasn’t one that satisfied either of them. It was easier for Caspar to follow orders and listen to the adrenaline push him through a battle. He’d been told from birth that thinking of things higher than himself were pointless, and everything here seemed far beyond his reach.

Still, he replied, “Well, it’s to overhaul the crest system and make a meritocracy right? So when Edelgard does it, you won’t have to be count or anything. You can just be Linhardt.”

“It’s not worth it,” they countered quickly.

This wasn’t the first time they had this conversation. Caspar tried to explain what was worth fighting for. It had never been enough for Linhardt to ever anticipate the next battle with eager ferocity like Caspar did, but it had worked in keeping them from falling into a rut of nothing but sleep and monotony. Each time they had it, though, Caspar could tell it was helping them less and less each time, even if it almost always went exactly the same way.

This was Caspar’s cue to try and tell Linhardt that they’re so close to winning, and Edelgard promised to help Linhardt set up a laboratory or whatever they wanted to keep studying crests, and Caspar was going to get a cat and bring her to visit Linhardt every single day. The cat’s name would change every time, but it would usually be enough to bring a small smile to Linhardt’s lips and Caspar knew it wasn’t intrusive or impolite to pull them into a hug from there.

But this time, Linhardt continued first. “We backed them into such a corner they felt they needed to… turn into demonic beasts to stand a chance.”

“Yeah…” 

Caspar couldn’t minimize that tragedy, nor did he want to. He’d wanted to get to know Dedue better, five years ago. He’d helped Mercedes carry a mountain of cookies she’d baked for the Blue Lions on several occasions. He’d even sparred with Sylvain and won, once. Remembering those he’d been classmates with less than a decade earlier only served to remind him that every single soldier he’d cut down with an axe had stories and feelings and opinions just like they did.

“I don’t want to take any more lives,” Linhardt said. “I don’t want any more blood on my hands.”

“Edelgard wants to march to Fhirdiad in the morning,” Caspar murmured. He ran his thumb across Linhardt’s hand.

“And how many people will she kill  _ there _ ?” they spat. “How many people will Rhea kill?”

Linhardt sighed. They shifted, resting their head on Caspar’s shoulder. “I’m tired. Everyone knows Edelgard will win anyway… But after today, it’s clear Rhea won’t just surrender.”

“You think so?” 

They nodded. From the angle the two were sitting, Caspar could feel it more than see them do it.

He wished there was something he could do to cheer them up. They may have gotten down after every battle like this, but this seemed the lowest they’d ever been. There were only a few ideas that came to mind, and before Caspar fully realized it, one started spilling out of his mouth.

“What if we left?”

Linhardt moved to stare at him. “You mean desert.”

Caspar nodded. “You said Edelgard’s going to win anyway. Does she need us?”

They seemed to consider it. “No… I don’t think so.”

The two fell into silence. After a moment, Linhardt stood up, still with their hands on Caspar’s. He let them move his hand and arm as they pleased. They twisted his wrist to hold his hand in both of theirs, turning to face him. 

They looked every bit a mess. Their bun was falling out of its place, and flyaway hairs were threatening to cross Linhardt’s vision. Caspar had the urge to brush them away, maybe even fix their hair, but he wouldn’t let go of their hands yet, and they likely smeared blood on his, besides. They wouldn’t want  _ that  _ anywhere near their face.

Still, Caspar’s chest swelled under their gaze. He hadn’t really meant to suggest that the two drop everything and run away. He hadn’t even really given any thought to what they might do after the war. Whatever happened, though, he already knew he was happy to do it with Linhardt beside him.

Linhardt’s brow furrowed, and Caspar’s heart sank. Maybe they were rethinking it, and were about to launch into a series of disparaging and pessimistic statements. He tried, but he couldn’t always keep them away from their pessimism. 

“It’s… a bit more complicated than just running away,” they said. “Adrestian law would brand us as deserters, and if we were to be found we could be sent to jail. We’d have to keep moving until everything was settled past the point we become unlikely to be found, and in that time it might be difficult to successfully travel, depending on how tightly Edelgard places her thumb on Fódlan.”

Even then, Caspar could see the ghost of a smile pulling Linhardt’s mouth to one side. He just needed to say the right thing to make them  _ really  _ smile.

“So?” he goaded, smiling himself. “You could figure it out if there’s a problem, and you got me to do all the heavy lifting.”

They smiled. “We might have to steal a horse or two,” they argued.

“Didn’t you already steal from your dad? You said it was fun,” he countered. 

“We could never see any of the Black Eagle Strike Force again,” Linhardt retorted. “No Edelgard, no Ferdinand, not even the professor.”

“Would anything stop us from writing letters?” Caspar asked, honestly. Missing their friends was probably the worst part of this decision, but he also couldn’t actually believe any of them would throw the two in jail for deciding not to fight.

“I suppose not,” they conceded. They were still smiling, but they didn’t say anything further.

“Sounds like to me all those problems aren’t really problems after all.”

Linhardt slipped their hands from his and fell forward, wrapping their arms around his shoulders and forcing him to support the entirety of their weight. It wasn’t as though he minded.

In a sense, he knew he was giving up the nebulous desire to be as renowned a fighter as his childhood heroes and all the stories of knights and justice. Final battles were classic ways to get some sort of title and live on in legend. He didn’t mind if it was for Linhardt. After all, they’d already given a lot up themself for his sake. The moments they’d struggled to keep their stomach in to make sure he was properly healed or burnt a swordsman to a crisp that could have easily had Caspar’s head had not been gone unnoticed by him.

“Let’s go steal a horse,” Linhardt whispered in his ear.

Stealing was wrong, on paper, but nothing was entirely black and white. Caspar knew this was kind of a good-stealing. He took no issue with waiting until most of the camp was asleep and smuggling two mares into the nearby forest.

He barely knew how to ride, and Linhardt knew only slightly better, but the carefree laugh they let out between the trees made the whole thing worth it.


End file.
